


Together

by princessbekker



Series: Family!Verse [2]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Family, Fluff, that's it they're just cooking dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:11:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessbekker/pseuds/princessbekker
Summary: Olivia, Alex, and Noah make dinner (Can be read as stand-alone)





	Together

It’s been a good day. Those don’t come often enough anymore, when both Olivia and Alex still have energy come the end of the night, and neither of them have to work, and Noah happily shows them a drawing he made at school. Five happy people. Noah in the middle, two women with brown and blonde hair to his left, and two men with brown hair to his right. Nick and Sonny are family too. When Olivia puts it on the fridge with a bright red magnet, she pauses to take a picture to send them- later, she’ll photocopy it at work so they can have it on their fridge as well. 

Tonight is for them to be a family, something Alex murmurs against Olivia’s neck. It’s so rare that they get to do something like this, so they definitely won’t waste the opportunity to cook together, especially Alex’s mother’s recipe. Light pours through the lampshade to highlight the exhaustion on her face, the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, her chapped lips. She likely wants to collapse into bed, but there’s enough left for her to fill out the rest of the evening with love.

“Noah, come help me knead the dough,” Olivia calls, getting him to run away from his blocks and hop up on the step stool Alex dragged from next to the bathroom sink. He loves this. It’ll need to rise for a good hour or so before they can bake it, but there’s nothing better than warm bread- especially Baba’s. Even though Alex’s mother passed away when Noah was three, he loved her, and he especially loves her recipes and traditions. When Alex makes Kulich in the spring, it’s all Noah will talk about for weeks. This connection to the past, these roots, mean the world to him just as much as his mothers.

She has to remind him to cover his hands in flour first, which earns a powdery cloud covering her face and a bright laugh from Alex, who has her attention on peeling an apple to go into the Krendl filling. It’s not the center of the dish, but it’s a favorite of his, especially because of how much he loves punching it despite being told he should be more gentle.

“We’re making two, right?” Alex asks. “So we can bring one to Nick and Sonny?”

“Always.”

Noah starts to get a little less aggressive with the dough because his arms get tired. Five year olds have boundless energy, but only for the most fun of activities or in times of acute boredom. He can’t do this forever, even though he says it feels like he does. So when his little muscles start to ache, he hops off his stool and throws open the fridge. 

“Do we get to cook tonight?”

The easy smile on Olivia’s face tightens slightly. Most children love to eat out, but Noah doesn’t get as many home cooked meals as he should. It shows in how much he whines over the pizza man’s face in the doorway, and how he jumps up and down excitedly at the chance to help Sonny make dinner on their weekly visits. He’s a happy kid. His life hasn’t gotten to be normal. It’s all hospital visits and social workers and hours with a babysitter other than Nick, who recently picked up a job as a PI researcher. As an ex-cop with a bum knee and an arrest for beating a man on the street, it was hard for him to find work, but they couldn’t live off his penchant and Sonny’s detective salary alone. 

“Yes, we are. Can you do Mommy a favor and get the chicken off the bottom shelf?”

He scrabbles at it for a moment before yanking it out and letting it plop onto the counter a little too close to the bread, close enough that Olivia nudges it aside with her elbow. They’ll start on it in just a minute, once she rolls up the dough and puts it in the bowl to rise. By the time it’s ready for the oven, dinner will be ready, and they’ll all get a warm desert. For a moment, at least, they’ll be the family they’re supposed to be. 

Alex dumps all the filling ingredients into a saucepan together, covers it with saran wrap, and sets it aside for until the bread starts to rise so they can focus on the rest of dinner. She dances in the kitchen, plucking spices from their homes in the cabinet and getting the olive oil down from the top shelf. Olivia should be getting out the vegetables and the stock from the fridge, but she finds herself just watching. Golden hair sways in its ponytail as a soft sweater rides up soft hips that have put on some padding over the last couple years, but are still Olivia’s favorite place to put her hands and lips and praises whenever she has the opportunity. Age does not steal beauty as magazines like to imply. No. It enhances it.

When Alex turns and catches her staring, she laughs. “You’re so gay.”

“You are too.”

“Not as gay as you are.”

“You cried at our wedding.”

“You proposed.”

“You said ‘I love you’ first.”

“You-”

“Ohhhh my gooooosh,” Noah whines, throwing his head back dramatically. “You’re both so gross.”

“And you love it,” Olivia teases in answer.

He sticks his tongue out, but puts it back before he can be reprimanded. Smart kid, just like Alex, who has a penchant for letting him get away with anything and everything. They’re partners in crime, those two. Noah has the ideas. Alex helps execute them. So many times, Olivia has come home on a late night to see them both halfway through pints of corner store ice cream, or with a glass of wine and a few bottles of nail polish ready to pamper her. Their shenanigans aren’t always bad. Just interesting, and a reminder of the bond between the three of them that’s stronger than people like Sheila Porter

Olivia finally manages to get to the vegetables and herbs and starts cutting them into small enough pieces to sautée, get some flavor before they get around to baking the chicken. It’s slower than pan-frying, but Olivia feels like the flavor gets in better, and it’s a lot less hands-on than standing over an oiled pan and waiting for it to turn white around the crisp seasoning.

And Noah occupies himself staring through the cling wrap covering the dough, so he can watch it rise. It makes it go faster, he always says, drumming chubby fingers against the sides of the bowl. More likely than not, he’s waiting for the opportunity to steal a piece and spend ten minutes playing with it before cramming sticky raw dough into his mouth.

“If you can’t wait until dinner, there’s applesauce in the fridge,” Olivia says, because it’s easier to preemptively redirect his focus. “It’s cinnamon.”

His face lights up. In the blink of an eye, he’s got his stool in front of the fridge to locate  the little squishy packet, and then he’s presenting it to her so she’ll pop open the cap. Alex laughs again, and the world is safe and theirs. This evening belongs to them. They’re happy, this time, in a way that cannot be stolen under any circumstances.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is also @beelivia!


End file.
